


Disrupt The Harmony

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning(s): Incest, breathplay, blood play, knife play, voyeurism, language, angst, UST, threesome<br/>Summary: Percy has watched for a very long time; the memory has disrupted his life for far too long..</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disrupt The Harmony

**Disrupt The Harmony  
**  
I don't know how old I was when I realised that I wasn't a part of what they had.  Maybe I was three, or four, or five. For all my brains, which my mother praised, it still took me that long to realise that what rolled off the tongue was 'Bill and Charlie', not 'Bill, Charlie and Percy', and no, I really wasn't part of what they had.   
  


* * *

  
  
Percy tugged his knitted tank top over his head and shook it out. He folded it neatly in his hands before setting it down on the chair at the end of his bed.  He stripped down to his underwear and each garment followed his mother's woollen expertise in neat course onto the chair.  He shivered, moving quickly to the window to shut it, though he wasn't fool enough to believe that the Devon air was the cause of his discomfort.   
  
 _You're not welcome here._    
  
No matter how many times his mother kissed his forehead, nor how many times Ginny shot him a warm smile over their breakfast, he couldn't ignore the fact the Burrow simply no longer felt like his home.     
  
Trying to bat the thought from his mind, denial being a good old friend, Percy slid his hand beneath his bed covers and pulled out his pyjamas.  He stepped quickly into them, shivering harder, when, with all but the last button done up, a warm laugh sounded above him.   
  
That propelled him even faster into bed; the candles were snuffed and the blankets were up to his chin before he breathed again. He stared at the ceiling, wishing his eyes could bore through the plaster and the wood and see what he was missing out on.  He had no doubt that he was missing out on _something_.   
  
Hot lips meeting hotter lips, hairy skin meeting hairy skin. Charlie tattooed, Bill pierced.   
  
 _Oh, I know exactly what I'm missing._    
  
Of course, he'd spent years trying to catch them out, but they, just like the twins and Ron, had an aversion to him.  When he approached, the subject changed, the laughing toned down, as if he was too thick to understand the joke, too fragile to take the brotherly ribbing.   
  
 _I am._    
  
Perfect Percy. Humongous Bighead. Percy the Prick.  He remembered all of those names and the hurt which had followed them.     
  
They all treated him differently, and had then wondered why, when the chance came, it wasn't too much of a choice to turn his back on them.  Since the war had ended, he'd found himself with far too much time to think about why he'd left, the things he'd said, and more importantly, why he had chosen to return at the last minute, desperate not to be too late.   
  
Another laugh sounded through the old walls of the house and Percy licked his lower lip, breath catching in his throat. He had heard those sorts of laughs the night he had _finally_ caught them in the act, although ever since, he had been wondering if it had really been a case of catching, or rather more being finally allowed into the secret.   
  
The summer of his first year at the Ministry, when he was buried nose-deep in cauldron bottoms and the Quidditch World Cup had sent his colleagues into a frenzy, the house had been full.  The air had tasted like his childhood with all of them under one roof, their mother cooking for double their number, their father walking around with a silly grin on his face because, just for once, it _could_ have been the past again.   
  
When he should have been sleeping off the pure exhaustion which had come from a night fighting the disturbances at the Quidditch World Cup site, Percy had found himself wandering the landings, unable to drift off. A laugh just like that which had floated through the walls as he lay in bed that evening had come to him, and he had approached their door, because just for once, he thought he might be allowed to be party to the joke.  They were always more amenable when they were tired.   
  
As he neared, however, Percy heard another laugh, one which had very little breath in it, and was followed by a small choke. The door was open merely a sliver and he hovered, fist raised to knock.   
  
Then had come a moan, and his hand had fallen to his side.   
  
Thinking back on it, Percy didn't know why he hadn't just run -run for his life, not caring if the floorboards gave him away.  They would never have known it was actually him, but he assumed it had been fear which kept him there, glued to the sight of his brothers naked, standing back to chest; Charlie in front, Bill behind.   
  
Bill's hand at Charlie's throat, his knuckles white with pressure. Charlie's red face and his bound hands in front of his belly.   
  
Thinking about it caused blood to surge into Percy's cock and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to cling onto the image.   
  
He had been alarmed, he remembered, when he'd caught sight of the knife in Bill's free hand. It was short and sharp, almost like the daggers of their childhood fairy tales, but Percy saw no more detail due to his limited line of sight. What he had seen, which had caused his insides to turn cold, was Bill pressing the short blade to Charlie's belly. The skin surged up around the sharp slice, and when Charlie hissed, Percy had found himself wanting to storm through the door and curse Bill to hell and back.  He wouldn't use his fists; they weren't worth anything. His magic was stronger.   
  
As he had stood there, trying to steel himself for thrusting the door open, he'd heard the moan again, low and throaty -appreciative. He couldn't tear his eyes away as the pair of them turned, giving him a better view.  Just short of Charlie's bound hands, his cock was rigid, jerking with his breaths.  Bill cut again; Charlie's moan turned to a hiss, and blood surged to the surface.   
  
Heat had licked at the base of Percy's throat, watching them. His fists had balled up without his knowledge, but when his nails broke the skin, then he felt it, the stinging pain, which had to be nothing compared to what Charlie was going through.   
  
“Such a good little brother...” Bill had teased.  
  
“Fuck you, Billybong.”  
  
“Names, huh? You want names?” Bill laid another slice, that time moving the knife so that it fell over the only part of Charlie's hip that he could reach.  “Chucklechops.”   
  
Caught off guard, Percy remembered forcing the laugh to die in his throat.  Their mother loathed anybody who called Charlie 'Chuck', and thus the twins had taken it upon themselves to force the nickname into reality.  They had stopped after only the second time that Charlie had decked them in the orchard, out of sight of their parents, but it hadn't surprised Percy at all that Bill had saved it for the right occasion.   
  
Percy remembered hearing a clatter as the knife landed on the floorboards, and seeing that Bill's fist had instead closed around Charlie's dick, squeezing it so hard that the head darkened to an alarming colour, and Charlie moaned in pain.   
  
“Shut up,” Bill whispered. “Or, better yet, I'll make you.”   
  
A strangled choke followed the words and Percy had stood, transfixed, watching Bill slowly cutting off Charlie's air supply, whilst blood slid down his belly and his cock was pumped with almost painful tightness.   
  
How long he had stood there, watching, Percy couldn't actually remember, but knew that he had only run away once Charlie had tensed, and come had flown in spurts from the end of his cock, landing somewhere on the floor of Bill and Charlie's shared bedroom.  He remembered being hard in his own pants, and how when he eventually tried to move, knowing that discovery might well be fatal, his hard-on had crashed painfully into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms.   
  
Suddenly hot, Percy kicked back his covers and took in a deep breath, trying to cleanse himself of the memory. He supposed that they were at it again, up there, standing naked in the middle of their room, _being together_ , far more together than two brothers should ever have been.   
  
Biting hard into his lip, Percy rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes.   
  


* * *

  
  
It was easy, then, for me to make the decision to leave them. It was a _deciding_ factor, even.  I was not a part of Bill and Charlie, nor Fred and George. I should have been close to Ron, but we were on two different planets, and when we came together, there were only ever fireworks and explosions to signal just why we were worlds apart.  The truth of it is, after that night and seeing them together, I left to spite them. They didn't care about me, or my advancement. Bill went back to Egypt and Charlie went back to Romania; for a year I spent my life wondering what they were doing.   
  
It was my obsession.    
  
Everybody is obsessed with something, and they were _my_ mania.  With every letter that was received, I scoured it after my mother was finished with it, searching for some clue that they had been together, and I wondered, with sick fascination, how many scars Charlie had accumulated on his body since I had last seen it naked.   
  
When I said the things I said, happy to make my father boil with rage and my mother cry, I didn't really believe them. But it was easy, and somehow, everything they'd made me feel over the years -uptight, humourless, less of a person for liking books and following rules, it all came out, spewed at the wrong two people, and I have never regretted anything more.   
  


* * *

  
  
“Here, you can have this.” Percy pushed the copy of the Daily Prophet over the table so that it sat by the side of Ron's bowl of cereal. “I'm finished.”   
  
Big blue eyes looked at him, searching for an ulterior motive. Percy set his jaw and clenched his teeth, wondering what he would have to do to earn Ron's trust back.   
  
 _I never had it._    
  
It was true that Percy had not played cruel tricks on the youngest boy of the family like Fred and George had; he had not excluded him from grown up games like Bill and Charlie had, but Percy knew to the depths of his core that at any opportunity given to him, he had relished making Ron feel stupid. He had enjoyed that with all of them, to some extent, his intellect and favour with their mother his only powers over the brothers that teased him, but with Ron, it was different, because he was _Ronnie_ , the baby, the slowest, the thickest; all of the things Ron hoped not to be.   
  
“Stop looking at me like that,” Ron muttered finally, stuffing his mouth full of cereal and ungracefully beginning to chew.  
  
“Like what?” Percy asked, innocently, because he had been so deep in thought he had forgotten to control his facial expressions.  
  
“Like you're waiting for me to grab you by the neck and throw you out,” Ron said, after swallowing the masticated cereal with a loud gulp.   
  
The skinny redhead stirred his spoon around in the bowl for a while before he dropped it.   
  
“You look like you're waiting to wake up.”   
“What?” Percy snapped irritably, confused by Ron's cryptic words.   
  
He heard the sigh and then cursed his mistake as Ron leant back in his chair. The snapping, the quick answers -they were the part of 'Perfect Percy' which Ron loathed, that they _all_ loathed, and he was trying to change for them.   
  
“You look like this might be some great dream that you're having... but you're really afraid that you're going to wake up, and you'll be back where you were, apart from us, the war'll still be going on and we'll have to go through it all again...”   
“That I'd have to make the decision to come back again, you mean?” Percy asked softly, sitting back down. He didn't remember rising.   
  
Ron shrugged and nodded, saying no more. He stared at his cereal.   
  
“I would come back every time, Ron. I hope you know that.”   
  
That time there was no answer, and the silence between them built until it resembled a thick wedge, driving them further and further apart, until Ron spoke.   
  
“I was like you...” his voice was almost a whisper.  “I said things which I didn't mean. I left them. And then I went back.”   
  
Percy fiddled with his glasses, trying to buy himself time to find the right thing to say -but with Ron he had never really known the right thing to say, because nobody had ever really said the right thing to him, either.   
  
“And is being like me really such a bad thing?” he asked, unable to keep from sounding hurt.  
  
“No.” The answer was short and to the point, but it gave Percy some hope as Ron got up from the table, and deserted his breakfast in favour of heading outside.   
  


* * *

   
  
I tried, when I was away from them, to stop thinking about what I was missing out on -what I'd always been missing out on, long before I joined the Ministry and wore smart office robes and thought one day I might actually _be_ somebody, rather than supporting someone who already _was_ somebody.   
  
I'd missed out when I was little, when it was raining outside and the wind would rip through the top of the house and the sound would deafen us all; Bill and Charlie were together, curled up in bed. Fred and George were the same. Ron went running to our parents and Ginny, well, she slept through it all. I laid in my bed, and wondered when one of them might come and see if I was alright, just once, if they might pop their head around the door and ask me to their room.   
  
When it was just me in that ridiculous little flat over the top of the second-hand bookshop, I was used to being alone.   
  
It never stopped me thinking about them, wrapped around one another.  The image of them together was burned onto my retinas, and what was more, I could fool myself all I liked, but I never, ever wanted that image to leave me.   
  


* * *

   
  
“Perce!”   
  
Percy looked around warily as a single-voiced cheer went up as he stepped into the sitting room.  The rest of the family had gone to bed, but there in the still-warm room, stood Charlie, a glass in his hand.  Behind him, Bill sat on the sofa, looking exhausted, his hair loose about his face.   
  
“Charlie.” Percy nodded. He saw the book he was looking for on arm of the two-seater, just where he'd left it.  
  
“I'm drunk,” Charlie announced with a grin on his face. “Feels fucking fantastic.” He held the glass out. “Want some?”  
  
“No, thank you,” Percy replied, stepping around him to retrieve the book. “I was just on my way to bed.”  
  
“Oh, fine.” Charlie made a face and drained his glass. “Didn't expect three years away to have made you any more fun.”   
  
“What?”  
  
“Ignore him, Perce, he's three sheets to the wind.” Bill's sage advice earned a snort of derision from Charlie.  
  
“Getting boring in your old age, Billybong?”  
  
“Chucklechops, might I suggest you shut your mouth before I put my fist in it?”   
  
Percy walked to the archway entry of the sitting room before Charlie had finished laughing.   
  
“Nighty night, Perce,” Charlie called merrily after him.   
  
He had put one foot into the hallway when he heard it.   
  
 _“Boring fucker.”_    
  
He stopped, turning on his heel. Instead of looking surprised at being caught out, Charlie's lips merely twisted into a smirk and his eyebrows rose. _A challenge._  
  
   
“You know what...” Percy strode back into the room and threw his book down on the sofa, even though it killed him inside to treat it so roughly. “I think I will have that drink.”   
  
“Good man,” Charlie half-roared, as if he still had some inkling of the fact that their entire family were attempting to sleep above them.  When he spoke again, it was in a hushed voice.  “Have you ever been pissed, Perce?”   
  
“Of course I have,” Percy said calmly, picking up the bottle of Firewhiskey from where it sat next to Bill's thigh.  
  
“Bet you're a lightweight.” Charlie's eyes narrowed.  
  
“That's a bit rich, coming from you, Mister Two-Shots-And-I'm-Anybody's,” Bill interjected.   
  
Charlie just laughed. Percy looked between them before taking a swig from the bottle of Ogden's.   
  
“I'm not anybody's...” Charlie's hips took on a swagger as he headed in Bill's direction. “Because I'm yours, Billybong.”  
  
“Charlie-”   
  
Percy didn't miss it, the warning tone held in Bill's voice. Charlie, however, was too drunk to either notice or care, and blundered on.  
   
“Nobody would have me but you anyway.”  
  
“Perce, I think you should go to bed,” Bill said, his tone authoritative.  “I need to get Charlie there himself before he brings the house down.”  
  
“With what, secrets?” Percy asked, swallowing another mouthful.  
  
“What?” Bill asked, thrown off guard.  
  
“Secrets.”   
  
Percy set the bottle down at his feet and picked up his book again, suddenly feeling happy with the upper hand that he held.  Bill's face was marred with worry, and he was ignoring Charlie, who had begun to noisily hum to himself.   
  
“We don't have any secrets from you.” Bill blinked as he spoke.  “I don't know what you think is-”   
  
There was very great satisfaction, Percy found, in walking past his brother and giving him the cold shoulder.  
 

* * *

   
  
I don't know why I was so fascinated with _them_. I mean, really, it should have been the twins- identical, together in every way. They read one another's minds. They were amazing, though of course, I never admitted as such to them. Their heads would never have made it though the door.   
  
It was always Bill and Charlie that I watched, that I wanted to be part of.   
  
Even though there are knives and strangulation and Godric only knows what else involved.   
  
I want that.   
  


* * *

  
  
“They say eighteen is an important birthday, in the Muggle world.”   
  
Percy watched his mother affectionately ruffle Harry's hair and the warm smile on her face.  
   
“So, I made you a cake, and the dinner, of course.”   
  
“Molly, you really didn't have to do that.”   
  
“But, you did, so let's eat the cake and drink that and have done, eh?” Ron grinned, pointing to a collection of bottles on the sideboard. “Happy birthday, mate.”   
  
The sparkling wine looked expensive.   
  
 _Too expensive for Mum and Dad._    
  
Jolted by his cruel thought, Percy hoped that his mind couldn't be read on his face. He had grown skilled at hiding his true feelings in the last few months at the Ministry, when his opinions had come full circle, and he had constantly been searching for a way out.   
  
The popping of a cork drew him back to the present and he looked to where Charlie's hand was sopping with foam. He immediately put it to his lips; Percy was immediately captivated.  He watched as his brother's plump, red mouth sucked in the excess liquid with precision, and the way he shook his hand out pointlessly at the end, thick fingers limp.   
  
“Waste not, eh?” Charlie grinned, before beginning to pour into the waiting glasses, filling each one almost to the brim until the bottle ran out. “More!”   
  
The family had dissolved into chat around him and Percy realised he was alone, not speaking to anybody, and cast his eyes about to find someone to attach himself to.  The only person free was Bill, but Percy didn't fancy talking to his oldest brother any more than he had fancied going to Charlie's aid with more wine.   
  
Things had been tense between the three of them since _that_ evening, with the firewhiskey and the burning fire and Charlie's big fat mouth.  The older two had regarded him more warily than ever before, once again ceasing their conversation when he entered the room, shooting him furtive glances when they thought nobody else was looking.   
  
Before he could turn and look at someone else, Bill's light blue eyes were upon him, and Percy felt trapped.  His heart beat sped up as Bill walked towards him in the tiny kitchen and, without ceremony, took him by the elbow and dragged him into the tiny passageway into the sitting room.   
  
Charlie's loud laugh drifted through to them.   
  
“We need to talk,” Bill said stiffly, glancing over his shoulder to check that they were still alone.  
  
“If we must.” Percy folded his arms over his chest and waited.  
  
“I don't know what you think you know, but you know _nothing_.” Bill's hand came up, fingers splayed, and pressed towards him in the air as he spoke the last word.   
  
Percy said nothing, preferring to allow his oldest brother to dig his hole just a little deeper. It clearly agitated him, causing him to shift his weight between his feet and lick at the corner of his mouth. Percy had seen that guilty stance so many times in his life he was sure he could have detected the tension in the atmosphere.   
  
“I think you're mistaken,” Bill continued finally.  “Whatever you think you've seen you've clearly dreamt.”   
  
Percy couldn't help but laugh. “If there's one thing you lot have always told me, it's that I have no imagination. Rule follower. Boring. No dreams, remember?”   
  
“I've never said that.”   
  
“I know what I saw, and I know if I go in there and yank up that stupid too-small t-shirt Charlie wears because he thinks it makes his muscles look good, I know I'll find scars. Which I'm sure he puts down to dragons, am I correct?”   
  
His glasses had slid down his nose, and wanting to look authoritative, Percy pushed them back up with his index finger. He lifted his chin, waiting for Bill to defend his actions.   
  
When all that came was a laugh, he felt colour bleed into his cheeks.   
  
“Why does it matter to you what we've done or do?” Bill sat down, sliding low in the armchair and bending his knees. He looked up at Percy questioningly. “It's none of your business.”   
  
“I'm your family, of course it's my business.”   
  
“Well, no offence, but you've only been 'family' again for a couple of months.  You missed a lot in the interim which you're never going to get back -I know that, you know that, Mum knows that, we all do, Perce. It's not a dig at you, its a fact. And whatever went on then between Charlie and me...” he trailed off, focussing on his fingers as they played with the worn fabric on the arm of the chair.   
  
He said nothing more.   
  
“If you saw something like that... if you had seen me and Charlie, for example, what would you have done?”  
  
“Laughed,” Bill answered, deadpan.  
  
“Piss off,” Percy muttered, feeling his ears go red.  
  
“You've been hanging around Ron far too much.” Bill looked at him, apparently musing.  “Look.  What's done is done and it's all in the past.  Charlie and I had to put a stop to it when I moved back here to help the Order.”  
  
“You want me to believe you don't do that any more?”  
  
“Don't do what?” Bill tested him.   
  
Percy glanced towards the open archway, like Bill, intent on securing their privacy.  He swallowed and went on.  
   
“Touch one another. You cut him and you were... choking him and he liked it. I bet you-”  
  
“Fucked?” Bill cut in, gracefully rising to his feet again, and before he knew it, Percy had a face full of Bill.   
  
Mouth suddenly dry at the prospect, Percy didn't answer.   
  
“Can you even say the word fucked?” Bill whispered. “Have you ever done it, fucked somebody? Not made love, but actually fucked a person? Heard them cry your name? Shiver when you touched them?”  
  
“Y-yes,” Percy stammered. “But who is none of your business-”   
  
“Then what I might do to Charlie is none of yours.”   
  
“I thought you didn't do it any more?” Percy scowled.  
  
“Would you be jealous if I said we did?”   
  
Bill's lips were just a whisper of a fraction away from Percy's own. When he answered, he was sure that they would meet. They were matched in height.   
  
“Yes.”  Shame broke through him as he replied and Percy felt his knees weaken.   
  
He opened his mouth, eager to accept what Bill looked to be willing to give, when a cough from the archway forced them apart. Charlie stood there, fury etched in his usually genial features.   
  
“What the fuck?” he demanded, his lips almost white with anger.  Percy remembered how full of colour they had been in the kitchen and nearly smiled at the possessiveness in Charlie's nature.  
  
“Nothing,” Bill said calmly. “We're just having a discussion.”  
  
“Well don't.” Charlie spat the words in Percy's direction. “And get the fuck in the kitchen because they want to cut the stupid cake.”   
  
He turned on his heel and stomped away, his footfalls sending vibrations through the floorboards beneath their feet. Percy looked at Bill, unwittingly searching for a lead to follow, only to find Bill pale with lowered eyelids.   
  
With a slight huff, Percy coughed and broadened his shoulders.  A conversation wasn't illegal, though the content bordered on it. He walked boldly out of the room, headed for the kitchen.     
  


* * *

   
  
I am a leader.  I have always been a leader.  And, really, I suppose that's where I went wrong with my siblings -they are all headstrong, stubborn; they don't want to be led, and never have done. Ron might have been the youngest boy, but he chose his path, he stuck by Harry when the community turned on him.  The twins were a storm impenetrable.  Bill and Charlie had their dreams long before the rest of us, why should I, their upstart little brother, ever have succeeded in getting through to them?   
  
Why is it so easy, in retrospect? Why can I see so easily now what left me hurt and sinking when I was a teenager, when I slammed the front door shut that day on my parents and ran away?   
  
Everything is easier with time, it seems, except for the one thing I can't let go.   
  


* * *

   
  
Percy jerked awake at the knock on his door.  He blindly groped for his glasses on the bedside cabinet, shoving them on his face and accidentally poking himself in the eye.   
  
“What?” he called groggily, choking on the sleep in his throat.   
  
The door opened without further ceremony and he squinted to see two figures ducking through it. It was closed with a gentle hand.  The end of his bed dipped with weight.  He had enlarged it to a double on his return, mirroring the bed he had bought for the flat above the bookshop.   
  
“Right.”  Bill's voice was hard.  “We need to talk.”  
  
“I thought talking was against the law?” Percy looked to Charlie, who looked away.  
  
“Charlie's sorry for the way he spoke to you earlier.”   
  
“He doesn't look sorry.”   
  
“He is,” Bill said firmly.  “And we're sorry if what you saw caused you any distress.”   
  
Percy thought that distress was putting it mildly, but also wrongly. He wasn't about to admit the amount of times he had touched himself to the memory, however, whilst Charlie was being so openly hostile to him.   
  
“Why did you bring it up?” Bill asked.  
  
“Because he's been bursting to say it for years,” Charlie supplied.  
  
“Shut up,” Bill hissed.   
  
Charlie got to his feet and cracked his knuckles. “I'm going back to bed.”  
  
“Charlie, _please?_ ”   
  
Percy had never heard Bill's voice so full of pleading.   
  
 _Or as soft._    
  
  
Suddenly, he felt disgusted with himself.  He had hoped that over the years, he might have changed, but Percy knew that what he had done by informing his brothers that he knew of their dabbling was the same as he had been as a child -running to their mother with misdoings, telling her of every plot and blabbing every secret.  This time, there were no parents involved, only themselves, but they were adults and his treachery seemed even worse.  He had disrupted the harmony between them, disrupted what they had.   
  
He was nothing more than the desperate, bossy child he had always been, and the growth that he had hoped for had all been a lie.  
   
  
“Get out,” he whispered, as the power of his realisation overwhelmed him. “Go back to bed.”  
  
“No, we need to talk about this-”  
  
“I know nothing,” Percy said loudly, talking over him. “You're right. I don't know anything, I didn't see anything. Go back to bed and forget I ever said anything. Please.”   
  
“Perce, are you alright? You look a bit... mental.”   
  
Charlie surprised him by sounding like he cared, but it wasn't enough to cut through the self-hatred taking hold in Percy's blood.   
  
“Get. Out.” He forced out through gritted teeth. “Now.”   
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because... Because I need to be alone.”   
  
Percy threw back his blankets and shot to his feet, marching to the door and opening it for them. With wary looks at one another, Bill and Charlie fell into single-file, Bill first, and headed for the landing.  Just when he was about to release his held breath, Percy felt hot fingers lock around his wrist.   
  
The crack of apparition was all he knew before another room came back into focus. He knew it immediately, from the smell of two different scents of musk in the air, and from the memory.   
  
“Isn't this where you've always wanted to be?” Charlie's whisper in his air was accompanied with warm arms locking around Percy's shoulders.  He couldn't keep in a gasp as a warm belly fit perfectly into the natural curvature of his spine. “In here, with us?”  
  
“N-No.”   
  
“Liar.” Charlie seemed even closer than before. “I saw you, that night. I saw you.”  
  
“What?” Percy exploded, trying to burst out of Charlie's hold before he realised that he was scrawny, and Charlie had the muscle of a body builder, and resistance was futile. They wrestled for a moment, until their embrace turned into more of a cross-chest choke hold, and he was stuck.   
  
“The door was open -did you really think I couldn't look out whilst you were looking in? Bill was busy. I wasn't.”  
  
“You looked busy.” Percy couldn't help how shy his words sounded.   
  
A light laugh tickled his ear.   
  
“What do you want, hmm?” Percy nearly choked as one of Charlie's fingers found his nipple beneath his pyjama top. It circled it. “Do you want in? Do you want to be a part of it?”  
  
“I've...” Percy found himself ready to lie, to try and puff himself up and look strong. To look like he hadn't spent his years' estrangement wishing for something he shouldn't wish for.  “Yes,” he mumbled miserably, and let his head fall forward.   
  
Strong fingers settled beneath his chin and forced it up; Percy met Bill's eye with almost fear.   
  
“Or would you just like to watch with permission this time?”   
  
The kiss they had missed earlier that evening happened then, and Bill's lips were rough, his tongue damp. Percy backed up into Charlie, who shoved him forward, squashing them together as a trio. Charlie began to suck on his neck.   
  
“Ow,” Bill huffed suddenly, hot breath flooding over Percy's skin. “Bloody glasses. These need to go.”  
  
“Don't,” Charlie instructed. “I like them. Sexy.”  
  
“What?” Bill and Percy asked together.  
  
“Fuck off,” Charlie said good-naturedly. “I just like glasses... and later, Bill, you're going to fuck me wearing Perce's glasses, and if he's not between my legs, I'm going to be really, really gutted...”   
  
A sharp nip told Percy that there was no question, that the described _would_ happen, because Charlie had demanded it.   
  
“I've got work tomorrow,” Percy whimpered against Bill's mouth.   
  
“We'll have you out the door with a packed lunch in time, Perce, don't you worry,” Charlie teased.  
  
“The things that we do,” Bill said, suddenly serious.  “They're big, Perce. They require absolute trust and I'm not doing either to you, do you understand?”  
  
“But I trust you.”  
“I don't want you to find that you don't the moment I'm digging a blade into your skin. No.”   
  
The hardness of Bill's tone sent blood straight into Percy's cock. Bill turned away to rummage in the small table next to his bed. Charlie remained wrapped around Percy.  
   
“Just because he won't, doesn't mean I won't,” Charlie whispered, before sucking on Percy's earlobe and razing it with his teeth. “I've always known you were made of stronger stuff than the rest of them thought.”   
  
The words made his chest fill with pride, and Percy might have been seven years old for the happiness which took him at such simple praise.   
  


* * *

   
  
I can't even think. I certainly can't speak.  I'm here, blissed out, completely naked, sandwiched between them.   
  
Charlie is snoring in my ear and normally, the irritation would enrage me to levels unbearable. Now the sound is comforting.   
  
On my hip, the one buried beneath me, there is a throbbing. A healing cut. A cut that Charlie, when Bill had fallen asleep, rolled me over and pinned me down to make. He then bent his head and sucked the blood away, licking it over and over again.   
  
And then he licked my cock and made me come, again, and it just seemed the perfect way to end the evening.   
  
The perfect way to end an obsession, I suppose. A chapter of my life I can now, hopefully, put behind me.   
  
“Perce...” Charlie shifts behind me and pulls me back against him.  “Don't tell Bill what I did. He'll bite my bollocks off. And I kinda like 'em.”   
  
I hide my laugh in the pillow.   
  
“Good thing he likes 'em too, eh?”   
  
Charlie's chortle is full of sleep, and then he's gone again.   
  
I close my eyes and hope to follow, finally having shared something with them; finally having been accepted.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
